


Memories

by jbm



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Elamy, Eleventh Doctor Era, F/M, Fluff, doctor x amy, eleven and amy, eleven x amy, eleventh doctor x amy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbm/pseuds/jbm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The words were like the arrival of birds or an earthquake or a declaration or a star's implosion. But the earth didn't turn upside down, his heart didn't explode and she didn't cry. No matter what happened, nothing changed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr : http://elevensgreatlove.tumblr.com/

 

“Amelia!”  
  
A thousand memories in a few seconds. Eyes painted black, lips painted red. Converse and short skirts. A laugh here, a tear there. A face carved in an apple like her name carved in his hearts. Nail polish and high heels. Pond.  
 _"The others, they're not you."_  
Everywhere and anywhere, the universe was his, but somehow that made it _theirs_. Any planet, star, comet, volcano or earthquake.  
 _"Where do you want to start?"_  
Someone important, someone so, so important. Skin like snow, words like ice, hair like fire between his fingers. His Amelia.  
Pain, so much pain. Cold anger like _"are we disagreeing or competing_ " or _"you told me to wait, and I did, a lifetime._ "  
Guilt full of _"the morning is a long time away"_ and _"I know where your heart lies"_ and _"why did you say five minutes?_ "  
Bitter, so bitter. _"What is the point of you?_ "  
  
“Who's Amelia?”  
  
 _"Amelia Pond. Before I got it all wrong. My sweet little Amelia._ "  
Amelia Pond. Amy. Amy Williams. Amy Pond. Amelia Williams. The girl who waited. Mother-in-law. Rory's wife. Amelia Jessica Pond. Best friend. Partner. Ally. Companion. Pond.  
 _"Are you a police man?"_  
  
“The first face this face saw.”  
  
That face, that _skin_.

 

  
  
A few thousand years ago he took her to the north pole. The only skin showing was her red nose and bright eyes. Everything else was covered by layers and layers of clothing. She made a snow angel and cried. Startling tears. Any colder and they would have frozen on her face like crystals. He never asked her why, he just carried her back into the Tardis like a child, stamped the snow off his boots, and made her a hot chocolate. In a matter of minutes, she was smiling again.  
Incomprehensible human. Not human- just Pond.  
  
A few hundred years later than now, she walked down the stairs into the console room wearing nothing but Rory's shirt. Long legs and wavy hair. She cried into his jacket for a bit, and he never asked her why. He picked her up like a baby, and took her back to sleeping Rory. The next morning she was as cheerful as ever, impossible Pond.  
  
A century ago they went to a wedding. She wore a black dress and black heels. The tears started at “in sickness and in health” and ended at her first glass of champagne. She drank another glass and danced with River. She drank another and danced with Rory. She downed a glass of a different alcohol that made her cheeks turn red, then she flirted with the barman over the fifth. After the next one, Rory tried to take her glass, she slapped his hand. She gulped down another, and headed out to the dance floor, alone. She lifted her hands above her head and swung her hips. Beautiful Pond. He felt her crying more than he saw her crying. He felt the urge to comfort, to protect. A man reached for her, hoping to dance with this drunken angel, hand was too low and insistent on her hip as she shook her head dazedly.  
“Get your hands off her.” He muttered, as he met them on the dance floor. Something about his expression made the man drop his hand like he'd been burned. Amy swayed.  
'Doctor.' She slurred. One arm around her waist, the other holding her hand that was swung over his shoulders, he walked her outside. The street lamps made her look eerie, like she was a ghost or a shadow or a spark or- just Pond. Carefully, delicately he wiped a tear of her cheek.  
“You never ask me why, that's why I come to you.” She said thickly.  
“Shh.” He told her. He didn't want her to say something she'd regret, alcohol loosened her tongue in ways impossible to imagine. “Come along, Pond.”  
“It was the wedding, the vows and Rory. Why did... Why did it make me feel so sad?” She hiccuped as they stumbled into the Tardis.  
“What's that word?” She asked as he lead her up the stairs. “Like sadness, and when you wish... Wish you hadn't, or had. But it's too late. What is it?”  
He lowered his eyes, guilty and ancient. “Regret.”  
“That's it!” She shouted. “Clever Doctor.”  
She was a mess. They were a mess. A beautiful chaos. He held her hair whilst she threw up in the toilet, he helped her brush her teeth, and he carried her to her and Rory's room. He pulled off her shoes, and tucked her under the blankets.  
“Stay.” She murmured, catching his hand. He sat next to her. “My doctor. I always- I always said you were real. What's the word again?”  
“Regret.”  
“That's it. So much.”  
“Sleep now, Pond.” Her eyes were closed, her lipstick smudged. Her breathing was getting slower, her hand slacker around his.  
“'Till death do us part.” She sighed, before sleep pulled her under.  
  
A few years after today, he took her and Rory ice skating. Rory was always so in love it looked like it hurt him. Maybe he looked the same. She glided on skates like a dancing flame, they were too clumsy to follow. She blew a kiss in their direction. Both men thought it was for himself, and in that moment they hated each other. Her men, her choice. But the choice was already made, so there was no choice. He had lost a non-existent contest, but no one felt like celebrating.  
  
Fifteen years ago he showed her the first screening of 'grease'. They sang along to the songs and then she cried. She always was a little crazy. They pretended there weren't any tears and he bought her ice cream. Vanilla for him, chocolate for her. They walked back to the Tardis, her heels echoing in the empty street.  
“Dance with me Doctor.” They swung about crazily, she clung to him, and he imagined freezing this moment forever.  
“Did you watch my first dance at my wedding?” She asked him, “I was looking for you, I probably shouldn't have been.”  
The words were dangerous and meant too much, so he just kissed her forehead and pulled away. She smelt of popcorn and smoke and chocolate and- Pond.  
“When I was a kid, I dreamed you took me to the moon. Will you take me there, raggedy man?”  
“One day.”  
“Well, we've got forever.” Lies. Bitter sweet lies.  
“Are you drunk?” He wanted to know.  
“No. But sometimes I think I'm a little mad, like everyone used to say.” She laughed nervously, like she had just said a terrifying truth.  
'It's our secret, Pond.”  
  
Today five years ago, they went bowling. She was just as bad as him. He dropped a bowling ball on her foot so he bought her a milkshake. She slipped her hand into his on the way back to the Tardis. Surprising and appreciated affection.  
  
Two weeks ago, he took her to the tank museum. She thought it was boring and dragged her feet. She was bratty that day, so they shouted at each other for a bit, nothing unusual. He remembers her anger, but he also remembers the feeling of her crying into his chest later that night whilst her husband slept. Nothing unusual, then.  
  
Yesterday forty years ago, Rory took her out for a meal at his suggestion. He gave them the address and the money. The poshest restaurant for his Pond and her husband. They left smelling of cologne and excitement. He phoned River.  
“Did you send them out because you feel guilty?”  
“Guilty about what?”  
“Oh honey, you and your Amelia, there is a lot to feel guilty about, don't you think?”  
He hung up and spent the evening cleaning the console. Irritated and bored. Afterwards, he watched Rory kiss her before going up to bed. She dawdled, watching him fiddle with the controls. “You should have come, the food was great.”  
“It would have been a bit weird though wouldn't it. Me, you and your husband out for dinner.” He didn't recognize his own voice.  
“No more weird than it always is. We always go out, all three of us together.”  
“Forget it.” He straightened his bow tie and turned his back on her.  
“You should have gone out with River if you didn't want to spend the evening alone.” She snapped.  
“What would I have been anyway if I'd have come? The chaperone? The son-in-law? The third wheel?”  
There was a silence. He thought she'd left the room, but suddenly her chin was on his shoulder and her cheek against his ear. She smelt of perfume and Rory and candles and shampoo and- Pond.  
“You would have been my imaginary man, my raggedy doctor, like always.”  
She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, leaving him only with a tear from her cheek on the side of his head and lingering sensation of things left unsaid.  
  
On a warm April day, (he doesn't remember the year, just that it was the first time his Amelia actually _scared_ him) he found her in the bathroom. Rusty scissors in one hand, a fistful of red hair in the other.  
“Amy,” He said calmly, “what are you doing?"  
Her mascara had run down her pale cheeks. Her eyes were swollen and red. She froze when she saw him, she'd been a few seconds away from hacking off the hair in her fist. Her hands were shaking, she'd bitten her lip so hard he could see a small drop of blood forming on her bottom lip.  
“Put them down, Amy.” He told her gently, both hearts hammering in his chest, she met his gaze with her wild eyes in the mirror. He walked to her slowly.  
“Don't be silly, Pond.” She didn't resist as he took the scissors from her, and placed them in the sink.  
“Why?” He cupped her face in his hands.  
“I don't know.” She whispered, closing her eyes. “I did it once before, when they kept saying it was all in my head, and-”  
“Well I'm here, so you don't need to do it again.” He said, he kissed her forehead. “I'm here, Pond. I'm real.”  
She cried in his arms. They never mentioned it again.  
  
Three years ago, he took her to Scotland. It was something she'd wanted for a while, but she hadn't stated it obviously, because that would have shown that she was homesick. And for his Amelia, homesick meant sad and sad meant weak. If that were true, then they were the weakest people in the universe. She'd dropped little hints here and there, nothing major, nothing anyone could have noticed. But he wasn't anyone.  
She said things like, “Doctor, do you ever think about the place you were born in?” or “Rory, have you ever been to Scotland?” or “I wonder what it would be like to go back to where I was born.” Small words, big meaning. Everyone overlooked them, but he wasn't everyone. It had taken research, careful planning, but that day he parked the Tardis in front of the house she was born in.  
“How did you know?” She whispered, eyes filled with tears.  
“I always know.” He told her.He was her imaginary doctor, of course he knew.  
It was small and old and crumbling and depressing. Rory inspected the tiny garden shed. They walked around the back of the house to the garden. It was sad and overgrown.  
“I don't even remember this place. The only thing I remember about my childhood is waiting for you, in that awful house in England.” She walked over to a patch nettles and touched them with the toe of her boot.  
“You're all I ever remember.' She said. Exactly the words he'd said to her hundreds of years in the future. Or was it in the past? Time and space all jumbles together when you're a time traveller, no rhyme or reason just – Pond.  
“What do you think of this place?” She asked.  
“It's awful.”  
She burst out laughing, a slightly crazy cackle. “God, it is, isn't it? I thought it would bring up good memories, I just feel sad.”  
“You always feel sad.” He thought she might get angry, but she didn't. She just turned to him, all ginger and pale, as if the Scottish landscape made her look even purer.  
“Don't tell anyone.” She touched his cheek.  
Inside, the house was much the same, dark and crumbling.  
“I want to go upstairs.” She told them.  
“I don't think the stairs are safe.” Rory said, kicking the rotting wood with his foot. “It's bloody freezing Amy, shall we go back to the Tardis?”  
“You go, I want to be alone.” Alone meant with her doctor. Rory knew that after all those years. Hurt on her husband's face (after all those years), guilt in her doctor's mind (after all those years).  
“I want to go upstairs.” She repeated, after Rory had gone.  
It wasn't safe, but she knew he couldn't refuse. To hell with safe. Holding her hand as they climbed up wasn't safe, Rory leaving them in this cold place wasn't safe, she wasn't safe.  
They stood in the middle of peeling wallpaper as she shivered. They hadn't achieved anything by coming up here.  
“Thinking about my childhood makes me feel sick. This place makes me feel sick.”  
“Lets go then.”  
Before they left, she brushed a tear away angrily, leaving the house a bitter gift.  
“Can we go to the other house in England now?” She asked Rory once they had returned to the Tardis.  
“It will only make you sad, Amy.” Rory told her.  
“I don't get sad.” She told them irritably.  
When Rory was sleeping; he went to wake her. She was already awake, and flashed her teeth in the darkness as she smiled.  
“Come along, Pond.”  
She was in her nightie, and that hurt him because it was like the night before her wedding all over again, when she ran away with her imaginary doctor after all those years of waiting.  
In her garden, nothing had changed. She looked up at the bedroom window.  
“Do you want to go in?” She shook her head.  
They stood on the lawn by the shed.  
“This is where I waited.” Her voice was quiet and the guilt was too much for him.  
'Don't-”  
“I sat here and waited. I think I went mad, everyone told me it was all in my head, I-”  
“Stop.” He gripped her shoulder. “Please.”  
“I waited for you. You promised.”  
“Please.” He whispered.  
“I hated you. I still do.”  
Her first punch landed on his chest. It was weak, she was too tired for this. She hit her fists into his jacket, she sobbed insults. He deserved the blows, but each one was killing her.  
“Amy. Amy!” He caught her hands as her body shook. “Amelia, stop.”  
Like magnets or planets or stardust they sunk to their knees. His hands were still around her wrists, they knelt in the dirt, forehead against forehead. Guilt against anger, regret against madness. Sobs wrecked her frame.  
“You bastard.” She cried.  
“I know.”  
“I hate you.”  
“I know.” She cried more than he'd ever seen her cry, more than anyone had ever seen her cry. Fourteen years of broken promises and grief and regret.  
“Take me home.” She said finally.  
She hung limply in his arms, grass stains on her nightie.  
“I don't want to go back to my room.” She told him quietly.  
He put her in the leather chair in the console room and covered her with his jacket. He sat down beside the chair, head on her lap. She stroked his hair. She comforted him whereas she was the broken one. His broken Pond.  
“I don't really hate you, raggedy man.” She muttered.  
“I know.”  
They sat in silence, her hand on his head and his head on her leg. The light of the console room was an orange glow. The occasional whir the Tardis made was comforting, like the rise and fall of her chest. They matched their breathing: In, out. In, out.  
They breathed, they lived. No matter the pain and madness, they lived.  
“Waiting.” She said.  
“What about it?”  
Something touched his head. Her lips? Her hand?  
“It was worth it.”  
The words were like the arrival of birds or an earthquake or a declaration or a stars implosion. But the earth didn't turn upside down, his heart didn't explode and she didn't cry.  
No matter what happened, nothing changed.  
It was too late for change, but not too late for regret.  
In, out. They breathed, they lived.  
  
  
  


  
“We all change. When you think about it, we're all different all through our lives. And that's okay, that's good, you've got to keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be. I will not forget one line of this, not one day, I swear. I will always remember when the doctor was me.”  
  
 _"Hello old friend, and here we are, you and me, on the last page."_  
  
She's beautiful, he's hallucinating and he knows it.  
Down the stairs, she looks like a ghost but maybe he is by now too.  
Pond. Finally his Pond.  
He's tired. He's changing. Feelings and taste and appearance and voice. Nothing stays the same.  
Her hand on his cheek. Snow and fire. His Pond. Maybe he'll forget her. Maybe not. Definitely not.  
Her face, her skin.  
  
 _"The girl who didn't make sense, how could I resist?"_  
  
“Raggedy man...”  
  
 _"Hey." "What?" "Gotcha."  
  
_ Fear.  
  
 _"Amelia. Listen to me. I can be brave for you._ "  
  
Stay, Pond, please stay.  
  
 _"Hey, let's run away and have adventures. Come along, Pond._ "  
  
He is the eleventh doctor, and his story is over.  
She is Amelia Pond, and her story is over.  
  
 _"Amelia Pond, like a name in a fairytale._ "  
  
'...goodnight.” She flickers and fades, like a dancing flame.  
Goodnight Pond, goodnight.


End file.
